Midnight Snacks
A poem
You creep in slowly allowing the dim light to guide your swollen feet,
to the subtle buzz of the fridge.
Widening eyes scan the table,
spot an orange and swiftly grab it,
with a bashful grin, you ask
Can you cut this for me?
You creep in slowly allowing the dim light to guide your swollen feet,
to the subtle buzz of the fridge.
Widening eyes scan the table,
spot an orange and swiftly grab it,
with a bashful grin, you ask
Can you cut this for me?
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